MOSCOW.

I had no friends in Moscow to direct me where to find gypsies _en

famille_, and the inquiries which I made of chance acquaintances simply

convinced me that the world at large was as ignorant of their ways as it

was prejudiced against them. At last the good-natured old porter of our

hotel told me, in his rough Baltic German, how to meet these mysterious

minstrels to advantage. "You must take a sleigh," he said, "and go out

to Petrovka. That is a place in the country, where there are grand

_cafes_ at considerable distances one from the other. Pay the driver

three rubles for four hours. Enter a _cafe_, call for something to

drink, listen to the gypsies singing, and when they pass round a plate

put some money in it. That's all." This was explicit, and at ten

o'clock in the evening I hired a sleigh and went.

If the cold which I had experienced in the general's troika in St.

Petersburg might be compared to a moderate rheumatism, that which I

encountered in the sleigh outside the walls of Moscow, on Christmas Eve,

1876, was like a fierce gout. The ride was in all conscience Russian

enough to have its ending among gypsies, Tartars, or Cossacks. To go at

a headlong pace over the creaking snow behind an _istvostshik_, named

Vassili, the round, cold moon overhead, church-spires tipped with great

inverted golden turnips in the distance, and this on a night when the

frost seemed almost to scream in its intensity, is as much of a sensation

in the suburbs of Moscow as it could be out on the steppes. A few

wolves, more or less, make no difference,--and even they come sometimes

within three hours' walk of the Kremlin. _Et ego inter lupos_,--I too

have been among wolves in my time by night, in Kansas, and thought

nothing of such rides compared to the one I had when I went gypsying from

Moscow.

In half an hour Vassili brought me to a house, which I entered. A "proud

porter," a vast creature, in uniform suggestive of embassies and kings'

palaces, relieved me of my _shuba_, and I found my way into a very large

and high hall, brilliantly lighted as if for a thousand guests, while the

only occupants were four couples, "spooning" _sans gene_, one in each

corner and a small party of men and girls drinking in the middle. I

called a waiter; he spoke nothing but Russian, and Russian is of all

languages the most useless to him who only talks it "a little." A little

Arabic, or even a little Chippewa, I have found of great service, but a

fair vocabulary and weeks of study of the grammar are of no avail in a

country where even men of gentlemanly appearance turn away with childish

_ennui_ the instant they detect the foreigner, resolving apparently that

they cannot and _will not_ understand him. In matters like this the

ordinary Russian is more impatient and less intelligent than any Oriental

or even red Indian. The result of my interview with the waiter was that

we were soon involved in the completest misunderstanding on the subject

of gypsies. The question was settled by reference to a fat and fair

damsel, one of the "spoons" already referred to, who spoke German. She

explained to me that as it was Christmas Eve no gypsies would be there,

or at any other _cafe_. This was disappointing. I called Vassili, and

he drove on to another "garden," deeply buried in snow.

When I entered the rooms at this place, I perceived at a glance that

matters had mended. There was the hum of many voices, and a perfume like

that of tea and many _papiross_, or cigarettes, with a prompt sense of

society and of enjoyment. I was dazzled at first by the glare of the

lights, and could distinguish nothing, unless it was that the numerous

company regarded me with utter amazement; for it was an "off night," when

no business was expected,--few were there save "professionals" and their

friends,--and I was manifestly an unexpected intruder on Bohemia. As

luck would have it, that which I believed was the one worst night in the

year to find the gypsy minstrels proved to be the exceptional occasion

when they were all assembled, and I had hit upon it. Of course this

struck me pleasantly enough as I looked around, for I knew that at a

touch the spell would be broken, and with one word I should have the

warmest welcome from all. I had literally not a single speaking

acquaintance within a thousand miles, and yet here was a room crowded

with gay and festive strangers, whom the slightest utterance would

convert into friends.

I was not disappointed. Seeking for an opportunity, I saw a young man of

gentlemanly appearance, well dressed, and with a mild and amiable air.

Speaking to him in German, I asked the very needless question if there

were any gypsies present.

"You wish to hear them sing?" he inquired.

"I do not. I only want to talk with one,--with _any_ one."

He appeared to be astonished, but, pointing to a handsome, slender young

lady, a very dark brunette, elegantly attired in black silk, said,--

"There is one."

I stepped across to the girl, who rose to meet me. I said nothing for a

few seconds, but looked at her intently, and then asked,--

"_Rakessa tu Romanes_, _miri pen_?" (Do you talk Romany, my sister?)

She gave one deep, long glance of utter astonishment, drew one long

breath, and, with a cry of delight and wonder, said,--

"_Romanichal_!"

That word awoke the entire company, and with it they found out who the

intruder was. "Then might you hear them cry aloud, 'The Moringer is

here!'" for I began to feel like the long-lost lord returned, so warm was

my welcome. They flocked around me; they cried aloud in Romany, and one

good-natured, smiling man, who looked like a German gypsy, mounting a

chair, waved a guitar by its neck high in the air as a signal of

discovery of a great prize to those at a distance, repeating rapidly,--

"_Av'akai_, _ava'kai_, _Romanichal_!" (Come here; here's a gypsy!)

And they came, dark and light, great and small, and got round me, and

shook hands, and held to my arms, and asked where I came from, and how I

did, and if it wasn't jolly, and what would I take to drink, and said how

glad they were to see me; and when conversation flagged for an instant,

somebody said to his next neighbor, with an air of wisdom, "American

Romany," and everybody repeated it with delight. Then it occurred to the

guitarist and the young lady that we had better sit down. So my first

acquaintance and discoverer, whose name was Liubasha, was placed, in

right of preemption, at my right hand, the _belle des belles_, Miss

Sarsha, at my left, a number of damsels all around these, and then three

or four circles of gypsies, of different ages and tints, standing up,

surrounded us all. In the outer ring were several fast-looking and

pretty Russian or German blonde girls, whose mission it is, I believe, to

dance--and flirt--with visitors, and a few gentlemanly-looking Russians,

_vieuz garcons_, evidently of the kind who are at home behind the scenes,

and who knew where to come to enjoy themselves. Altogether there must

have been about fifty present, and I soon observed that every word I

uttered was promptly repeated, while every eye was fixed on me.

I could converse in Romany with the guitarist, and without much

difficulty; but with the charming, heedless young ladies I had as much

trouble to talk as with their sisters in St. Petersburg. The young

gentleman already referred to, to whom in my fancy I promptly gave the

Offenbachian name of Prince Paul, translated whenever there was a

misunderstanding, and in a few minutes we were all intimate. Miss

Sarsha, who had a slight cast in one of her wild black eyes, which added

something to the gypsiness and roguery of her smiles, and who wore in a

ring a large diamond, which seemed as if it might be the right eye in the

wrong place, was what is called an earnest young lady, with plenty to say

and great energy wherewith to say it. What with her eyes, her diamond,

her smiles, and her tongue, she constituted altogether a fine specimen of

irrepressible fireworks, and Prince Paul had enough to do in facilitating

conversation. There was no end to his politeness, but it was an

impossible task for him now and then promptly to carry over a long

sentence from German to Russian, and he would give it up like an

invincible conundrum, with the patient smile and head-wag and hand-wave

of an amiable Dundreary. Yet I began to surmise a mystery even in him.

More than once he inadvertently betrayed a knowledge of Romany, though he

invariably spoke of his friends around in a patronizing manner as "these

gypsies." This was very odd, for in appearance he was a Gorgio of the

Gorgios, and did not seem, despite any talent for languages which he

might possess, likely to trouble himself to acquire Romany while Russian

would answer every purpose of conversation. All of this was, however,

explained to me afterward.

Prince Paul again asked me if I had come out to hear a concert. I said,

"No; that I had simply come out to see my brothers and sisters and talk

with them, just as I hoped they would come to see me if I were in my own

country." This speech produced a most favorable impression, and there

was, in a quiet way, a little private conversation among the leaders,

after which Prince Paul said to me, in a very pleasant manner, that

"these gypsies," being delighted at the visit from the gentleman from a

distant country, would like to offer me a song in token of welcome. To

this I answered, with many thanks, that such kindness was more than I had

expected, for I was well aware of the great value of such a compliment

from singers whose fame had reached me even in America. It was evident

that my grain of a reply did not fall upon stony ground, for I never was

among people who seemed to be so quickly impressed by any act of

politeness, however trifling. A bow, a grasp of the hand, a smile, or a

glance would gratify them, and this gratification their lively black eyes

expressed in the most unmistakable manner.

So we had the song, wild and wonderful like all of its kind, given with

that delightful _abandon_ which attains perfection only among gypsies. I

had enjoyed the singing in St. Petersburg, but there was a _laisser

aller_, a completely gay spirit, in this Christmas-Eve gypsy party in

Moscow which was much more "whirling away." For at Dorot the gypsies had

been on exhibition; here at Petrovka they were frolicking _en __famille_

with a favored guest,--a Romany rye from a far land to astonish and

delight,--and he took good care to let them feel that they were achieving

a splendid success, for I declared many times that it was _butsi shukar_,

or very beautiful. Then I called for tea and lemon, and after that the

gypsies sang for their own amusement, Miss Sarsha, as the incarnation of

fun and jollity, taking the lead, and making me join in. Then the crowd

made way, and in the space appeared a very pretty little girl, in the

graceful old gypsy Oriental dress. This child danced charmingly indeed,

in a style strikingly like that of the Almeh of Egypt, but without any of

the erotic expressions which abound in Eastern pantomime. This little

Romany girl was to me enchanting, being altogether unaffected and

graceful. It was evident that her dancing, like the singing of her elder

sisters, was not an art which had been drilled in by instruction. They

had come into it in infancy, and perfected themselves by such continual

practice that what they did was as natural as walking or talking. When

the dancing was over, I begged that the little girl would come to me,

and, kissing her tiny gypsy hand, I said, "_Spassibo tute kamli_, _eto hi

butsi shukar_" (Thank you, dear; that is very pretty), with which the

rest were evidently pleased. I had observed among the singers, at a

little distance, a very remarkable and rather handsome old woman,--a good

study for an artist,--and she, as I also noticed, had sung with a

powerful and clear voice. "She is our grandmother," said one of the

girls. Now, as every student of gypsies knows, the first thing to do in

England or Germany, on entering a tent-gypsy encampment, is to be polite

to "the old woman." Unless you can win her good opinion you had better

be gone. The Russian city Roms have apparently no such fancies. On the

road, however, life is patriarchal, and the grandmother is a power to be

feared. As a fortune-teller she is a witch, ever at warfare with the

police world; she has a bitter tongue, and is quick to wrath. This was

not the style or fashion of the old gypsy singer; but, as soon as I saw

the _puri babali dye_, I requested that she would shake hand with me, and

by the impression which this created I saw that the Romany of the city

had not lost all the feelings of the road.

I spoke of Waramoff's beautiful song of the "Krasneya Sarafan," which

Sarsha began at once to warble. The characteristic of Russian gypsy-girl

voices is a peculiarly delicate metallic tone,--like that of the two

silver bells of the Tower of Ivan Velikoi when heard from afar,--yet

always marked with fineness and strength. This is sometimes startling in

the wilder effects, but it is always agreeable. These Moscow gypsy girls

have a great name in their art, and it was round the shoulders of one of

them--for aught I know it may have been Sarsha's great-grandmother--that

Catalani threw the cashmere shawl which had been given to her by the Pope

as "to the best singer in the world." "It is not mine by right," said

the generous Italian; "it belongs to the gypsy."

The gypsies were desirous of learning something about the songs of their

kindred in distant lands, and, though no singer, I did my best to please

them, the guitarist easily improvising accompaniments, while the girls

joined in. As all were in a gay mood faults were easily excused, and the

airs were much liked,--one lyric, set by Virginia Gabriel, being even

more admired in Moscow than in St. Petersburg, apropos of which I may

mention that, when I afterward visited the gypsy family in their own

home, the first request from Sarsha was, "_Eto gilyo_, _rya_!" (_That_

song, sir), referring to "Romany," which has been heard at several

concerts in London. And so, after much discussion of the affairs of

Egypt, I took my leave amid a chorus of kind farewells. Then Vassili,

loudly called for, reappeared from some nook with his elegantly frosted

horse, and in a few minutes we were dashing homeward. Cold! It was as

severe as in Western New York or Minnesota, where the thermometer for

many days every winter sinks lower than in St. Petersburg, but where

there are no such incredible precautions taken as in the land of double

windows cemented down, and fur-lined _shubas_. It is remarkable that the

gypsies, although of Oriental origin, are said to surpass the Russians in

enduring cold; and there is a marvelous story told about a Romany who,

for a wager, undertook to sleep naked against a clothed Muscovite on the

ice of a river during an unusually cold night. In the morning the

Russian was found frozen stiff, while the gypsy was snoring away

unharmed. As we returned, I saw in the town something which recalled

this story in more than one _moujik_, who, well wrapped up, lay sleeping

in the open air, under the lee of a house. Passing through silent Moscow

on the early Christmas morn, under the stars, as I gazed at the marvelous

city, which yields neither to Edinburgh, Cairo, nor Prague in

picturesqueness, and thought over the strange evening I had spent among

the gypsies, I felt as if I were in a melodrama with striking scenery.

The pleasing _finale_ was the utter amazement and almost speechless

gratitude of Vassili at getting an extra half-ruble as an early Christmas

gift.

As I had received a pressing invitation from the gypsies to come again, I

resolved to pay them a visit on Christmas afternoon in their own house,

if I could find it. Having ascertained that the gypsy street was in a

distant quarter, called the _Grouszini_, I engaged a sleigh, standing

before the door of the Slavanski-Bazaar Hotel, and the usual close

bargain with the driver was effected with the aid of a Russian gentleman,

a stranger passing by, who reduced the ruble (one hundred kopecks) at

first demanded to seventy kopecks. After a very long drive we found

ourselves in the gypsy street, and the _istvostshik_ asked me, "To what

house?"

"I don't know," I replied. "Gypsies live here, don't they?"

"Gypsies, and no others."

"Well, I want to find a gypsy."

The driver laughed, and just at that instant I saw, as if awaiting me on

the sidewalk, Sarsha, Liubasha, and another young lady, with a

good-looking youth, their brother.

"This will do," I said to the driver, who appeared utterly amazed at

seeing me greeted like an old friend by the Zigani, but who grinned with

delight, as all Russians of the lower class invariably do at anything

like sociability and fraternity. The damsels were faultlessly attired in

Russian style, with full fur-lined, glossy black-satin cloaks and fine

Orenberg scarfs, which are, I believe, the finest woolen fabrics in the

world. The party were particularly anxious to know if I had come

specially to visit _them_, for I have passed over the fact that I had

also made the acquaintance of another very large family of gypsies, who

sang at a rival _cafe_, and who had also treated me very kindly. I was

at once conducted to a house, which we entered in a rather gypsy way, not

in front, but through a court, a back door, and up a staircase, very much

in the style of certain dwellings in the Potteries in London. But,

having entered, I was led through one or two neat rooms, where I saw

lying sound asleep on beds, but dressed, one or two very dark Romanys,

whose faces I remembered. Then we passed into a sitting-room, which was

very well furnished. I observed hanging up over the chimney-piece a good

collection of photographs, nearly all of gypsies, and indicating that

close resemblance to Hindoos which comes out so strongly in such

pictures, being, in fact, more apparent in the pictures than in the

faces; just as the photographs of the old Ulfilas manuscript revealed

alterations not visible in the original. In the centre of the group was

a cabinet-size portrait of Sarsha, and by it another of an Englishman of

_very_ high rank. I thought this odd, but asked no questions.

My hosts were very kind, offering me promptly a rich kind of Russian

cake, begging to know what else I would like to eat or drink, and

apparently deeply concerned that I could really partake of nothing, as I

had just come from luncheon. They were all light-hearted and gay, so

that the music began at once, as wild and as bewitching as ever. And

here I observed, even more than before, how thoroughly sincere these

gypsies were in their art, and to what a degree they enjoyed and were

excited by their own singing. Here in their own home, warbling like

birds and frolicking like children, their performance was even more

delightful than it had been in the concert-room. There was evidently a

great source of excitement in the fact that I must enjoy it far more than

an ordinary stranger, because I understood Romany, and sympathized with

gypsy ways, and regarded them not as the _Gaji_ or Gentiles do, but as

brothers and sisters. I confess that I was indeed moved by the simple

kindness with which I was treated, and I knew that, with the wonderfully

keen perception of character in which gypsies excel, they perfectly

understood my liking for them. It is this ready intuition of feelings

which, when it is raised from an instinct to an art by practice, enables

shrewd old women to tell fortunes with so much skill.

I was here introduced to the mother of the girls. She was a neat,

pleasant-looking woman, of perhaps forty years, in appearance and manners

irresistibly reminding me of some respectable Cuban lady. Like the

others, she displayed an intelligent curiosity as to my knowledge of

Romany, and I was pleased at finding that she knew much more of the

language than her children did. Then there entered a young Russian

gentleman, but not "Prince Paul." He was, however, a very agreeable

person, as all Russians can be when so minded; and they are always so

minded when they gather, from information or conjecture, the fact that

the stranger whom they meet is one of education or position. This young

gentleman spoke French, and undertook the part of occasional translator.